


Narrative Snapshot: Flow on Nar Shaddaa

by CherryFlight



Series: SWTOR: The Reflections Legacy [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: And More Angst, Angst, Gen, Not sure if Corso or T7 should get their own tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryFlight/pseuds/CherryFlight
Summary: Flow was doing fine, until he wasn't.  A short piece capturing the moment he began to fall apart.
Series: SWTOR: The Reflections Legacy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643305
Kudos: 4





	Narrative Snapshot: Flow on Nar Shaddaa

Flow hadn’t seen it as it happened.The little cracks that chipped away at his psyche with each kill, each compromise, each new danger. The guilt that ate at him for having robbed a man of his beloved son, Sith or not. From his own perspective, he was still strong. A bright-eyed optimist, even. The light would prevail, and in spite of what hurt now, it wouldn’t hurt forever.

Nar Shaddaa was the hammer blow that would make the cracks too deep to ignore, that would turn hope from the ledge on which he stood to the one he clung to with any scrap of strength he could find.

It seemed like it would be a breath of fresh air after Taris. Packed with life - not necessarily _happy_ life, but life in minimal peril. Enforced nonviolence between the rival factions. Someplace he might be able to rest his stressed mind. But the deeper he and Abric went, the Force guiding their travels along similar paths, the worse it became. He was surrounded by suffering so abject it masked the brilliance of the ambient life around him. The horror and pain of the gangs’ victims. The existential dread of sleeper agents waking up from surgery with no idea where they were and an incomplete picture of _who_ they were.

And then the Evocii. An endless chorus of fear, dread, suffering, void. It came in waves as the heartless Imperial named Vergost killed off new groups. It was the first time Flow had sensed a mass death. It felt like drowning.

He thought it would be over when he and Abric had him at their mercy. They could capture him, bring him to justice, learn how to prevent this from ever happening again.

But Abric raised his blaster and fired. 

Flow didn’t even remember the sound it made. Didn’t remember Vergost slumping to the floor among the piles of burning Evocii bones. For years, however, he would remember the feeling of one more life snuffed out, leaving a terrible emptiness in its wake. Lungs full of water when he needed air.

“ _Why!?”_ he demanded, his voice cracking on that one simple syllable.

“Why? Flow- bud- look at what he did! Look at all the death he’s caused.” Abric gestured with his still-drawn blaster at the evidence of the massacre, the attempted genocide, laid out before them. “He was a monster. He would have done that to us, too! He deserved that!”

_He deserved it._ Flow drew a gasping, ragged breath, and Abric seemed to realize something was very wrong. He reached out, but the thought of being touched by hands that had just willingly, mercilessly killed burned like fire, or maybe frostbite. His throat and fingertips were numb. He was still drowning. He couldn’t breathe. Desperately, he shoved Abric away, barely conscious of calling on the Force to push him and of Corso catching him with a startled “Hey!” The only thing on his mind was escape, to turn and flee while Teeseven whined sharply for him to wait, trailing off into a concerned warble just as he passed from earshot.

He could return to the Promenade. He could find his composure again. He might even be able to smooth things over with Abric.

But in some way he didn’t know how to put into words, there was no escape.


End file.
